


Aren't You Kind of Glad We Did?

by lara_aine



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lara_aine/pseuds/lara_aine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time Reid reaches month eight he’s just about ready to murder someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aren't You Kind of Glad We Did?

By the time Reid reaches month eight he’s just about ready to murder someone. Morgan can take a wild guess that he’s top of the list, so he tries to hide as much as possible, even if that means overtime and helping Hotch out with paperwork. Hotch never questions Morgan’s reluctance to go home. Haley was put on bed-rest in the weeks before Jack was born. Hotch _knows_.

Reid has always made a terrible patient. He signs himself out of hospitals, overrides doctor’s orders, refuses to take medication. He’s not good at staying still, he needs to be busy, to feel useful.

Morgan thinks this might be worse. Because even if Reid insists that ‘pregnancy brain’ is a myth and has no scientific merit whatsoever, Morgan knows anecdotally that Reid has it. He forgets things. He loses his train of thought in the middle of sentences, he leaves the water running, he can’t concentrate on anything. He would never admit it, but Morgan sees the chaos in the space around Reid, papers scattered, books tossed aside as if they’ve been thrown against the wall in frustration. Reid tells Hotch that the doctor won’t even let him consult over the phone on cases, statistics on blood pressure and stress and other things that Morgan knows is absolute bull because he was in the room and the doctor said no such thing. But he leaves Reid to his secrets and tries to gently curb his anxieties by pretending not to notice.

Reid’s never been good at sharing himself. There’s an inviolability about his personal space that Morgan thinks probably comes from being an only child. Physical contact has its place, but too much makes him uneasy, and although he doesn’t say so, Morgan knows he’s pretty freaked out right now. Because although he wants this child, aches for it, he’d also like his own body back thanks very much. And yesterday if you please.

It’s already August, a sweltering oppressive August that for Reid has become utterly unbearable. Morgan turns his car into the driveway and sighs as he looks up at the house. Every window it seems is open although the night is deathly still. Since his brush with anthrax left minor but permanent damage to his lungs, Reid can’t handle air-conditioning. The recycled air dries out his throat and creates problems with his breathing.

The air inside the house is muggy. Morgan deposits the take-out (that he’s sure Reid won’t eat) in the fridge, turns off the water (again) and makes his way upstairs.

 

Reid is sprawled naked across their bed like a worn out, world-weary offering. Every single fan they own is going full blast in his direction.

“Hey.”

He hardly turns his head in Morgan’s direction. “We need more.”

“Hmm?”

“Fans. Tomorrow. Will you get some?’

Morgan sighs and picks his way across the room, avoiding the piles of books underfoot. “It won’t do any good baby.” He sits on the edge of the bed and combs his fingers gently through Reid’s hair, “No amount of fans are going to make you feel better.”

Reid’s whole body is damp with sweat. At the back of his throat there’s a whine of displeasure.

“Did you try a cold shower?”

“Can’t. My feet hurt. Can’t get into the bath either.”

Balance had become a problem around the time Reid hit month seven. Even though it had never happened, nor was it like to, the heavy weight of his belly made him feel like he was about to pitch forward and fall flat on his face all the time. Climbing in and out of the bathtub was something he refused to attempt, even with Morgan’s help.

“I could give you a sponge bath.”

Reid’s eyes narrow and he glares at him. “Don’t be a perv Derek.”

Morgan holds up his hands in mock defense, “Hey, I’m only trying to help.”

“You can’t, unless you want to cut it out of me.”

Morgan lies back on the bed, kicking his shoes off as he does. “I’ve seen Alien man, no thanks.”

Reid shifts next to him, tense and uncomfortable. He lifts his leg in the air slightly and wiggles his toes, as if there’s something reassuring about being able to his feet again.

Morgan runs a finger down the inside of Reid’s arm. Reid hisses and pushes him away. “Don’t, you’ll make it worse.”

“Just trying to make you feel good.”

“That’s what you always say and then you make it unbearable.”

Morgan would have to own that that was probably true. The amount of estrogen firing around Reid’s body meant getting anything like an erection was pretty much impossible even if the rest of his body didn’t seem to get the message. His skin was so over-sensitized it burned to the touch, his body felt l suspended in a permanent state of arousal from which it could get no relief.

At the beginning it hadn’t been a problem. Reid had no sex-drive for months and then when it started to return, they had fooled around a bit, found other things that were pleasurable, Reid still liked to be stroked, nibbled, sucked even when it couldn’t go anywhere. But then this, summer had hit and Reid’s hormones had gone crazy and it was probably a good thing that he’d been put on bed-rest, because right now he could hardly bear to even get dressed. Anything touching his skin made him crazy.

And Morgan did push, shamefully, when he knew he shouldn’t, because Reid was having a hard time right now that was partly Morgan’s fault and Morgan wasn’t helping at all. But Reid belly-heavy with their child was the sexiest thing Morgan had ever seen, and so responsive to the slightest touch, having him was pretty much all Morgan could think about. He could fucking taste it.

Morgan nudges him onto his side. “C’mon, just trust me Spencer, I’ll make it better.”

Reid sighs, dubious but turns all the same and feels Morgan move around on the bed behind him.

“Close your eyes. Focus on my hands, nothing else. Don’t try to think.”

“Derek, that’s technically impossible. If I-”

“Shhh.”, Morgans says. “No talking.”

 

He starts on Reid’s calves, slowing working out the knots and stretching the muscle. He keeps his hands as soothing and as undemanding as possible, as he works his way up. The base of Reid’s spine, around which he doesn’t linger. Up his ribcage, across his shoulders, knot after knot until Reid’s breath begins to slow and his body loosens up beneath Morgan’s hands.

He circles Reid’s wrists, rubs his thumb over the veins there, fingers across the top of his hand, over his knuckles. He lifts Reid’s arms and runs his hands the length of his body. Reid’s breathing changes again, and he shudders beneath Morgan’s hands.

“Oh god, Derek, I-”

Morgan peels the damp hair hair off Reid’s neck, “Shh, hands, focus.” His voice is not much more than a whisper against Reid’s ear. A finger over the whorls of ear, across his jaw, feather-light on his collarbone. He skips over Reid’s chest, too much, too soon, but feels gratified when Reid makes the slightest sound of disappointment at the back of his throat. But there’s hipbones and thighs, and wide expanses of creamy pale skin.

He can feel Reid begin to coil under, all his hard work for nothing as he tenses again. Reid presses his head against the pillow, emitting a strangled cry into the cotton. Morgan knows what he wants. Across his collarbone again, and Reid’s body rises to meet his hands, even though his eyes are still closed. Reid’s nipples are already engorged and dark. Morgan bites back the urge to put his mouth to them. This isn’t about him and Reid has to get there by himself. Too much and Reid won’t get anywhere at all.

His mouth is slack, thin wordless cries as Morgan returns to his back. Firm hands working in the hollow at the end of his spine, a finger back against his nipple. Reid’s breathing shortens again, his body balancing on the edge of a spiral.

“Please, please, I need- Oh.”

He squirms against the length of Morgan’s body, until Morgan’s firm grasp on his hips force him to still. His breath is hot against his ear, voice gravelly and deep.

“It’s okay Pretty Boy, I’ve got you.”

Morgan flattens his palms against the taut, stretched skin of Reid’s belly. It burns under his hands. Reid squeezes his wrist, pressing against Morgan for whatever kind of leverage he can manage as he pushes up into Morgan’s palms. Morgan runs a nail down Reid’s _linea nigra_.

Eyes shut tight, Reid comes apart in his hands.


End file.
